


There Comes a Luckless Night

by captainshellhead, vibraniumstark



Series: We Meet at Dawn and Dusk [4]
Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Angst, Book 6: Tongues of Serpents, M/M, Missing Scene, Misunderstandings, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 02:23:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7022734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainshellhead/pseuds/captainshellhead, https://archiveofourown.org/users/vibraniumstark/pseuds/vibraniumstark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laurence and Tharkay say goodbye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There Comes a Luckless Night

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to malfaisant for betaing!

When they’d arrived at the inn for dinner, they’d taken one look at the men in the lounge area—several of whom Laurence recognized from the pub brawl, and one of whom he was absolutely certain Tharkay had thrown a chair at—and elected to take their meal in private.

The innkeeper was happy to book them a room and leave them to their supper. She’d initially eyed them nervously when they’d arrived, perhaps sensing the tension in the room. Once Laurence asked for a private room, she was more than happy to oblige them.

This room was a fair bit nicer than the one that Laurence remembered, having the added amenity of a sitting area to take their dinner. The atypical luxury of the room had apparently warranted additional effort in its presentation: the linens were clean, for one, and the room swept and tidy. On the table, a candle burned half-spent, dribbling wax over the edge of its too small dish.

The innkeeper brought their meal to them at once—a roast lamb and gravy over somewhat stale biscuits, relatively freshly cooked if not a bit bland, and some kind of pudding, the dressings of which Laurence was not certain he could readily identify—and then left them to their privacy. 

They spoke lightly, of the by now somewhat-stale news Laurence had received from the covert, of the planned route of the _Minever_ , and of Temeraire’s aspirations for constructing a pavilion of his own. It bore the same ease that Laurence had grown accustomed to in their conversations; an ease, Laurence realized, that he would soon come to miss. 

The conversation carried on through the deepening dusk, throwing queer shadows across the room as the lamplight overtook the light of the setting sun. It felt odd, after so long in hot pursuit of the thieves through the wilds, to have the time for such leisure. He supposed he would soon grow quite accustomed to it, once all was said and done, after the ships departed, and he and Temeraire were alone once more.

Granby and Iskierka had already gone, bound for Madras, and perhaps as far as Rio, if they should be called to it. He had said that there was little to call Tharkay to this part of the world any time soon, and he had no misapprehension as to the length of their impending isolation. 

Laurence twisted the stem of his glass between his fingers, absently. One question had been troubling him all evening.

“Where will you go from Istanbul?” Laurence asked. 

“I have yet to decide,” Tharkay said. “I find that the uncertainty of it appeals to me.”

Laurence took a long drink from his glass. “I imagine you must look forward to the freedom after so long.”

Tharkay shrugged. “I suppose in a way I am curious to see what awaits me.”

Laurence nodded thoughtfully, and to buy himself more time before he spoke took one sip from his glass, then another. Certainly he was happy for him. There was nothing for him here, in this harsh country, which held no friends nor work for him. Istanbul would be a refreshing sight, surely. 

Tharkay took Laurence’s wine glass, his thumb brushing gently against Laurence’s fingers. He set the glass aside. Laurence could feel his pulse quicken under Tharkay’s steady gaze.

“Will? You seem distracted,” Tharkay said.

Laurence studied his face, the way his eyes glinted in the lamplight, and his mind recalled the image of Tharkay leaning over him in the jungle, extending a hand to him and suggesting they go somewhere more private—

Laurence wasn’t sure what compelled him to lean forward, but he couldn’t resist the urge any longer.

He leaned forward and kissed him, firmly. Tharkay sucked in a breath, eyes wide, fingers flying to grip the fabric of Laurence’s shirt. Laurence tilted his head, breaking the kiss, but still just a breath away from Tharkay’s lips.

“You have my full attention,” Laurence said lowly.

For a moment, Tharkay looked as though he could scarcely trust his own senses, but he did not give Laurence long to feel self-conscious. Tharkay surged forward to kiss him fiercely, both hands sliding up to trace the lines of Laurence’s shoulders. His hands came up to frame Laurence’s face.

Laurence hooked both arms under Tharkay’s thighs and lifted him off his feet entirely. A startled laugh bubbled up in Tharkay’s throat. It was strange and thrilling to see him so caught off guard, some of his carefully constructed composure melting away. Laurence could feel the grin tug his lips as he kissed him, tilting his head down to relish in the new angle. The bed was on the other end of the small room, pressed against the far wall. They fell in a less-than-graceful heap, angled awkwardly and causing the bedframe to creak ominously.

Tharkay’s nimble fingers made quick work of the buttons of his coat, but he quickly lost patience; he was already attempting to tug it over Laurence’s head as they fell to the mattress. He tossed it aside once he was free of it. Tharkay linked his fingers behind Laurence’s neck and dragged him down for a kiss.

“This is,” Tharkay said breathlessly, “not quite how I had imagined the evening going.”

“I hope you can forgive me the change of plans,” Laurence said. Tharkay huffed.

“I am nothing if not flexible.” This he punctuated by gripping him about the waist and rolling his hips. Laurence sucked in a sharp breath. It was hardly enough, too much fabric between them, and Laurence pinned Tharkay’s hips with a frustrated noise. He pried the buttons of their trousers, ignoring Tharkay’s self-satisfied smirk.

Tharkay leaned up, nipped at his bottom lip, and kissed the spot to sooth the sting. His lips were chapped, from the heat from time so long spent in the harsh desert searching for the stolen egg, but his kisses were gentle and slow.

Laurence trailed a hand down Tharkay’s hip. The barest rasp of calloused fingers traced the lines of Tharkay’s flank, sending a shudder through him as Laurence took them both in one hand and stroked slowly. Tharkay stifled a choked-off moan, head tossed back against the sheets. His chest heaved, slick skin against skin beneath him. Laurence kept his steady pace, pumping his fist with one hand, shifting his other arm to brace himself on the mattress beside them. 

For a moment, Tharkay closed his eyes, and Laurence took the opportunity to stare openly, drinking in the sight of him. His dark skin glistened with sweat, a slight flush to his skin warming him. Laurence pressed a kiss to his nose, brushed his lips over the pale smattering of freckles on his cheeks, relishing the way his lashes fluttered against his skin.

Tharkay’s hands came to rest on his back, nails biting into the meat of his shoulder blades, holding fast. He turned his face into the crook of Laurence’s neck, grinding his hips upward in time with Laurence’s strokes. His breath was hot against Laurence’s skin, small, choked noises escaping him as Laurence flicked his wrist, thumb swiping over the head of his cock before he quickened his pace. Laurence could feel his release curling hot in his stomach, and he pumped his fist unrelentingly. Tharkay’s hips began to stutter irregularly, his breaths coming fast, forehead curled forward to press hard against Laurence’s shoulder. 

Beneath him Tharkay tensed, nails raking his skin, but Laurence stroked him through his release, until he was thoroughly spent. Laurence could feel he was not far behind, the slick glide of skin almost too much, and his fist bunched in the sheets as he comes with a jagged moan.

Laurence collapsed with his weight half-pressing Tharkay down into the mattress, breathless. For a moment they both lied there. Laurence could feel Tharkay’s heart pounding, and he mustered up enough energy to shift his hand over his chest. He closed his eyes, counting the frantic beats.

Tharkay huffed and gave him a half-hearted push, murmuring something half under his breath which took Laurence an embarrassingly long time to recognize was not English, but Nepali. Laurence blinked at him, pausing for a long moment before another light push had him reluctantly rolling onto his back, freeing Tharkay from beneath him. Laurence opened his eyes and was surprised to meet Tharkay’s gaze. He was staring at Laurence with a peculiar expression, and in his gaze Laurence saw such intensity that he could not help but feel his chest seize with want. Upon noticing his attention, Tharkay glanced away, face once again unreadable.

Before Laurence could pull himself together enough to formulate a complete thought, Tharkay had rolled off his edge of the bed and made to stand.

Laurence pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, for a moment blotting out the light. The bed was a mess, and their food stood forgotten on the table, growing cold. Laurence could only imagine what the innkeeper might think. He could not bring himself to care. He listened to the sound of Tharkay moving around the room for a moment before dropping his arms back to his sides.

The bed dipped beside him, and he opened his eyes when a damp washcloth dropped onto his chest. Laurence turned his head to watch Tharkay pull on his boots. His coat still lay discarded on the floor, and his shirt draped over his shoulders, unbuttoned, looking disheveled where it clung to his sweat-damp skin.

He glanced Laurence’s way, shooting him a twisted smile. Laurence felt his face heat, and he pushed himself up to a position somewhat more dignified than a boneless sprawl across the mattress.

Tharkay eyed him appreciatively, then turned back to tugging on his boots. “You drive a hard bargain, if this is your attempt at convincing me to stay.”

It was meant as a joke, surely; the wry twist of Tharkay’s lips said as much. He glanced at Laurence quickly, then away, standing to button his shirt.

“I—” He paused, unsure how to respond, because though it seemed a joke to Tharkay, the reminder of his departure settled cold and heavy like a stone in his stomach. 

_I will miss you dearly_ , he wanted to say. _Stay with me_. Laurence stopped that train of thought, before he could truly make a fool of himself. Surely Tharkay did not want to stay here, with him, and suffer through Laurence’s exile alongside him.

“I would not ask that of you,” Laurence said stiffly. “I can’t imagine you will find a more suitable ship than the _Miniver_ for some time. You’ve no reason to stay here.”

Tharkay stilled, then hummed his agreement and turned away to fetch his coat. “Yes, I imagine you’re right,” he said.

Laurence stood then to gather his own clothes. His trousers had managed to make their way beneath the bed, and he ducked down to fish them out and swat the dust from them. A slip of paper fluttered to the floor from his upturned pocket as he shook the trousers out. He stooped and reached for it, fingers curling protectively around the stiff cardstock.

The contact information for Tharkay’s lawyers. He turned the card over and ran his thumb across the embossed lettering. Laurence doubted any letter would reach Tharkay for some time once he had gone. He certainly wouldn’t see the man himself for much longer. Years, at least, if...if at all.

That thought settled uneasily with him. Laurence swallowed, glancing between the card and Tharkay, and then straightened to his full height, shoulders squared.

“Tenzing, wait—”

The crack of gunfire sliced through his train of thought, and he and Tharkay both ducked instinctively. He realized after a moment that the sound had come from the streets below, and turned a bewildered look from the window to Tharkay and back.

“What the devil is going on?” Laurence asked, leaping to his feet. He could hear shouting now, as well. Below them doors slammed, their host biting off a surprised oath.

Tharkay parted the curtains slightly and called for Laurence to dim the light.

“They are advancing on the governor’s mansion,” he said after a long moment.

Laurence had already pulled on his trousers and coat, and turned now to look; he couldjust make them out in the increasing dark, several streets down.

“I should go to Temeraire,” Laurence said, reluctant. He did not want to cut their dinner short, especially now. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth, and added, half to convince himself: “Before he comes to me.”

Tharkay nodded. “And I the docks,” he said. Laurence was not proud of how quickly his head snapped around, though Tharkay did not seem to notice. “I believe the commotion may be encouragement enough for them to attempt to leave port ahead of schedule.”

“You—,” Laurence cut himself off, before he could say something foolish. Tharkay was right, of course. “Yes. You should go.”

Laurence might have imagined the way his face fell, the slight downturn of his lips. A selfish part of him hoped that he, too, was reluctant to part ways, even—even if it was not enough to convince him to stay. Tharkay clasped his hand once more, as he had the day before, when he’d come to announce his intentions to depart. Laurence shook it firmly, and then paused, the touch lingering far more intimately than any handshake should, warm and solid and, in its own way, a goodbye.

 _If only you would stay with me,_ he thought.

“Safe travels.”

Laurence turned back to gather the rest of his things, the movement raising in him a reluctance which he was forced to tamp down. Behind him, the door clicked shut.


End file.
